


Bottom of the Barrel

by Bunnywest



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Dark fluff, Getting Together, Happy Ending, M/M, Sex Worker Stiles Stilinski, mob boss Peter Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 11:28:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14893778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bunnywest/pseuds/Bunnywest
Summary: Peter wonders what on earth his nephew’s brought him. He takes one look at Derek’s expression, and says “What’s wrong with him?”Derek huffs. “There’s nothing wrong, technically, he’s just not your usual type.” At Peter’s cool stare he continues, “He’s kinda….skinny. And pale. And annoying.” Peter’s eyes narrow, and Derek hastens to add, “There was literally nobody else! It’s pouring out there. He was the only one stupid or desperate enough to still be hustling in this weather.”The one where Stiles isn't even Peter's type, until he really, really is.





	Bottom of the Barrel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Green](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green/gifts).



> This is my contribution to the fandom cares auction - <1000K. (Eyes word count nervously - shush, it's fine!)  
> Green won, and she asked for soulmates, dark fluff, mob boss Peter and sex worker Stiles. I hope this hits the spot!

 

Peter pinches the bridge of his nose, willing the tension behind his eyes away. He’s had to terminate three employees today for stealing from him, and one of them got blood on his good coat. The full moon’s tomorrow night, and he needs some stress relief desperately.

He calls his nephew into the hotel suite. “Derek, go find me a pretty boy for the night.”

“I don’t know why you can’t use an escort service like everyone else,” Derek grumbles. He’s probably the only one who can get away with answering Peter back – he gets a little leeway, being family. But only a little. Peter shoos him out the door. He knows he’ll be back within the hour with some pretty boy that’s all blonde hair and tanned skin and shy glances. He’s trained his nephew well.

Sure enough, it’s barely forty minutes later when he hears Derek entering the suite with someone in tow. Derek tells whoever it is “Wait here. I’ll see if he’ll settle for you.”

He wonders what on earth his nephew’s brought him. He takes one look at Derek’s expression when he enters the bedroom, and says “What’s wrong with him?”

Derek huffs. “There’s nothing wrong, _technically_ , he’s just not your usual type.” At Peter’s cool stare he continues, “He’s kinda….skinny. And pale. And annoying.” Peter’s eyes narrow, and Derek hastens to add, “There was literally nobody else! It’s pouring out there. He was the only one stupid or desperate enough to still be hustling in this weather.”

That piques Peter’s interest. “Which is it, do you think?” he asks, “Stupid or desperate?” He’s not interested in stupid.

“From talking to him? Desperate. He’s new to the game.” 

Peter perks up at that, and he sees Derek relax a little. ”Bring him in, and you can have the rest of the night off.”  Derek’s worked just as hard as he has today – body disposal’s a bitch of a job. He supposes he can lower his standards, just this once.

Derek nods, and a minute later appears in the bedroom, half leading, half dragging a pale, skinny boy in sopping wet clothing. The kid looks like a drowned cat, and he’s hissing and yowling like one. “Let go, dude! I can walk, okay? I mean I wanna be here, I need the money, you don’t need to get all grabby about it!” He swats ineffectually at Derek’s hands, all indignation. Derek lets go of his collar and shoves him towards Peter.

The young man shrugs and pulls at his clothing setting it to rights while muttering about ‘ _damaging the goods.’_ At first glance he’s the antithesis of Peter’s usual boys, with his dark spiked hair and translucent skin, and Peter’s tempted to send him away because this really is scraping the bottom of the barrel – he’s wearing _flannel_ , for god’s sake. But then the boy glances up and Peter gets a good look at those wide, whiskey eyes, and the boy’s soft, pink mouth, and something in him stirs. “He’ll do,” Peter decides. Derek nods and then disappears.

Peter turns his full attention to the boy. He’s _absolutely not_ Peter’s type. Tall and lean, pale, _so very_ pale, with a sprinkling of moles, wide expressive eyes, a turned up nose, and a mouth that never stops talking, apparently. “So, you’re meant to pay me up front, and just normal guy on guy action, nothing weird okay? No offence, but I’m kinda new at this and I’m probably not any good at the kinky stuff yet,” the boy babbles, and he absolutely _reeks_ of nerves.

He opens his mouth to carry on, but Peter cuts him off with a raised hand. “Name?”

“Oh! It’s Stiles – um, no. Scott. Yeah, Scott.”

Peter would be able to tell he was lying even without the uptick in his heart beat. “Nice to meet you, Stiles. I’m Peter,” he says with a sharp grin. “Have you ever been with a wolf before?”

Stiles shakes his head. Peter finds that thought strangely arousing, and beckons the boy forwards. He grabs a thick envelope from the bedside table and hands it to Stiles. The boy looks inside, and his eyes widen. “That’s...uh… I did mention no kinky stuff, right? Because that a lot of money.”

“Trust me, you’ll earn it. I plan to use you hard, tonight. Can you handle that?”

Stiles nods like one of those bobble head dolls, and stuffs the envelope into his back pocket. Peter advances on Stiles then, until he’s mere inches from him, and draws in a deep breath. And oh, the smell is _intoxicating_. Peter’s never experienced anything like it. He closes his eyes, pushes his face into the crook of Stiles’ neck and inhales again, and it’s like he’s drowning in the most glorious of scents, fresh and crisp and spicy, like citrus and ginger, and he _wantwantwants it._

He can feel his fangs itching to come out, has to close his eyes to keep control. One hand holds Stiles in place while Peter keeps his face buried, and his wolf screams one thing.

_Mate._

Peter stands with his face in the crook of Stiles’ neck as it hits him that this boy is meant to be _his_. Not many wolves have soulmates, and he’s always dismissed the stories, yet here he is, addicted to a boy he’s barely known for five minutes.  All thoughts of using Stiles hard and discarding him fly from his mind. He needs to woo Stiles, make sure he’ll be his. He inhales once more, before pulling back, and smiling softly. “Why don’t we get you out of those wet things?” he croons. 

He strips his boy down, washes him in a hot shower, then dries him gently, before taking him to bed and spending hours making love to him, kissing and tasting him. Suddenly, tonight's not about him getting off. It's about pleasing his mate, and with every gasp, every pleased noise he pulls from the boy, Peter feels more and more settled. He learns how to make Stiles’ body sing under his hands and mouth, sliding into him slow and deep when Stiles finally begs for more. Peter’s always been skilled in the bedroom, and he brings all of it into play, until finally, after Peter makes him come three times, Stiles begs off, whimpering _no more, I can’t_.  

Peter smiles to himself, satisfied,  and goes to sleep with his boy curled against him.

 

* * *

 

 

As Stiles prepares to leave the next morning, Peter stops him. “I’m in town for a couple of weeks, and I’m interested in having exclusive use of your time. Would you be interested?” Stiles’ hand unconsciously goes to the envelope in his jeans pocket, and he grins brightly as he nods. Peter gives him a pleased smile. “Derek will go with you to pick up everything you need. You’ll be staying here.”

Stiles’s brow furrows. “I'm allowed to leave the room, right? Because if this is some bullshit where I’m chained to the bed, I’m out.”

“You’ll be free to leave unless I require your services, and I’ll pay you twenty thousand dollars for your time,” Peter tells him.

Stiles’ mouth hangs open for a moment in confusion. “Really? I mean, you’ve met me, right? And you’re all…..like that, and I’m like this,” he gestures to himself. ”Honestly dude, you could get someone a lot nicer than me for twenty grand.”

Peter walks over and runs one hand casually down Stiles’ chest, hooking his fingers in the top of his jeans and tugging him closer. “I don’t want someone _nicer_ ,” he says simply. “I like _you,_ Stiles. I feel we have a certain… chemistry. So, yes or no?”

Stiles only hesitates for a moment. “Yeah.”

“Excellent. Derek will take you shopping when you go and collect your belongings. You’ll need to look presentable when I take you out.” Peter says.

Stiles looks like he wants to argue, so Peter adds, ”That’s not negotiable, by the way. Derek knows what you need, just do as he says.” Stiles swallows, and nods. Peter gives Derek a list of what Stiles will need, and he raises his eyebrows at Peter - _really?_ – but Peter stares  him down and Derek nods and tucks the list in his pocket, and Peter knows that he’ll follow it to the letter.

While they’re away, Peter makes some calls. It’s really not that hard to get information on a twenty-one year old boy who goes by Stiles. Peter discovers that his mate is orphaned, has no close friends or family, and only moved to LA two months ago, for a job opportunity that didn’t work out. That explains the streetwalking, then. Stiles lives in one of the seediest apartment blocks around, and Peter can’t wait to get him out of there, permanently.

He texts Derek once or twice with items he thinks Stiles will need, and Derek doesn’t question it –he knows that Peter never does anything without good reason. That’s how he stays at the top.

By the time they return, Peter’s itching with the need to see Stiles again – it’s like a magnetic pull, and he wonders if Stiles feels it too. Something loosens in his chest when the pair of them walk in laden with boxes, Stiles laughing at something and telling Derek not to be a sourwolf, which is one of the better descriptions of his nephew that Peter’s heard. “Did you have fun shopping, Stiles? Get everything you need?” he asks, looking at the large stack on the table.

Stiles bites his lip, and says “Yeah, but I mean, there seems like a lot for two weeks. Are you sure this is all right? I mean, a new phone?”

Peter lets the disdain drip from his voice as he says “Stiles, you have a _flip phone.”_ He waits a heartbeat before adding, “besides, I need to able to contact you. Consider it a perk of the job.”

Stiles mumbles out a quiet _thanks._

“You’re welcome. Why don’t you go and unpack?” He shoos Stiles off to the bedroom with his duffel bag, and takes Derek aside. “You got everything?” he asks quietly.

Derek nods. “Suits will be delivered tomorrow morning. Peter, why are you spending a fortune on a boy you just picked up?”

Peter sighs. He’ll have to let Derek know, will need him onside, but he also knows his nephew will remind him of all the times he’s scoffed at  the idea of soulmates. “He’s my mate,” he says.

Derek’s eyes widen, and a slow smile spreads across his face. Peter braces himself for Derek’s mocking, but it never comes. “I’m glad for you,” Derek says, surprising him. “You deserve someone. Does he know?”

Peter shakes his head. “I’ll tell him when  the time’s right.”

Derek nods his understanding. Humans don’t feel the pull of _mate_ as strongly as werewolves, although some say it’s still there. Peter hopes so. Stiles emerges from the bedroom then, running one hand through his newly cut and styled hair. “So, what do I do now? Do you want me to – “ he makes a vague gesture that Peter assumes means sex.

“What I’d like is see what you’ve bought. Derek’s going to take care of a few things for me, and you’re going to try everything on and give me a show.” The tone of his voice makes it clear it’s not a request. Stiles nods and takes the parcels into the bedroom to get changed. Peter takes the opportunity to give Derek a list of names that he needs to pay a visit to, send Peter’s regards. That’s usually enough to keep them in line, know they're being watched.

Stiles spends the next half an hour showing Peter what he got, and Peter can see Derek’s influence. His nephew has good taste, and Stiles looks like a whole different person in clothes that fit him. It’s obvious how attractive he is, and Peter wonders how he could ever have thought Stiles wasn’t his type. He’s still too skinny though, and Peter’s wolf whines at the way his collarbones stick out. Peter looks Stiles up and down, and declares, “Keep what you’re wearing on, we’re going out to eat.”

Stiles frowns. “I already had lunch, like two hours ago.”

“Werewolves have big appetites. Indulge me.”

Stiles really can’t refuse, Peter knows, so he’s going to feed him every chance he gets. They go out to a nice diner that Peter has connections at, and he feeds Stiles pasta until he groans, “No more, I can’t.” Peter just smiles, and takes Stiles back to the hotel for a nap. While the boy sleeps off his food coma, Peter makes a few calls, does a little business. He’s just finishing up when Stiles comes out of the bedroom, sleep mussed and yawning.

Peter ends the call he’s on and pats his lap. “Come over here, sweet thing,” he instructs gently. Stiles shuffles over and straddles him, head resting on Peter’s shoulder as he wakes a little more. It’s perfect.  Peter leans in and scents him, placing his hands on Stiles’ hips to steady him.

“’S nice,” Stiles mumbles in Peter’s ear, and snuggles in closer. Peter hums with satisfaction at the added contact. Peter makes no move to stop Stiles as the boy slings his arms round Peter’s neck, and hopes it means Stiles can feel the bond between them. The smell of the boy is overwhelming, and Peter doesn’t speak for long minutes, just marinating in it, breathing in as much of the unique aroma that’s Stiles as he can. He can feel himself hardening from the close contact, and apparently Stiles can too, because he moves his head off Peter’s shoulder and looks down at the bulge in his lap.

“See what you do to me?” Peter murmurs. “I want you, Stiles.”

Stiles nods his assent, and Peter stands and carries him into the bedroom, peppering kisses over his throat as he goes. He’s less gentle when he fucks him this time, lets his need drive him a little more, but he’s pleased to find that Stiles responds just as eagerly when he drives into him hard.

He really is perfect.

 

* * *

 

 

Peter watches Stiles sleep, and thinks that he shouldn’t find it as adorable as he does because objectively, Stiles is a mess. He sleeps with his mouth open, drooling on the pillow, body awkwardly positioned in a way that can’t be comfortable. Peter reaches out and shakes his shoulder. They really need to get ready if they’re going to be in time for dinner.  Stiles shuffles and mutters something in his sleep but doesn’t wake. Peter leans over and says, “I didn’t wear you out that much, surely?”

Stiles opens his eyes at that, and grins crookedly. “I dunno, it was pretty intense.” He props himself up on one elbow and blinks sleepily at Peter. “I’m not sure I shouldn’t be paying you, honestly.” 

Peter laughs, before telling him, “Come on, out of bed and get dressed. We have a dinner reservation.”

Stiles looks far too good in the dress pants and blazer Peter picks out for him, and Peter’s tempted to take it all off him again and drag him back to bed, forget about dinner, but he restrains himself, settling instead for running his hands over Stiles’ ass and commenting, “Very nice, sweetheart.”

He takes Stiles to a nice restaurant, where the waiters give Peter a little nod and take him immediately to their best table. The owner comes over and gives them a bottle of wine, and assures Peter that the meal is on the house, anything they want, just ask. Peter smiles and tells the man he’ll remember his kindness. Something like relief passes over the man’s face.

Stiles watches the interaction, and looks at Peter shrewdly. “So, what was that?” he asks.

Peter shrugs. “Anthony’s a friend.”

Stiles shakes his head. “No, that’s not it. That was more like….” Peter can see the wheels turning in Stiles’ head. “Peter, are you some kind of celebrity or something? No, wait.”  He taps his fingers against the table as he thinks, and Peter waits. He wonders if Stiles is clever enough to figure it out. It doesn’t take as long as he thought. Stiles suddenly asks, “Peter, what’s your other name?”

“Hale.”

Stiles eyes widen. “Oh shit, you’re him!”  

“I’m who, exactly, sweetheart?” Peter asks. He’s interested to see what Stiles knows.

“You’re the mob boss. The one they call the West Coast Wolf. Rumor has it you took down the Argent syndicate last year, but nobody knows what happened  - they just disappeared.” Peter raises an eyebrow, impressed. He didn’t think that was common knowledge.  Stiles catches his look and explains “My dad was a cop. I might have listened in on a call or two in my time.”

He notes the boy doesn’t seem put off by his realization of who Peter is. Interesting. “Is it an issue for you, what I do?” Peter asks.

Stiles tilts his head, considering. “Not really. The Argents were assholes, I know that. They dealt in a lot of pretty nasty stuff, I heard.”

Peter nods. “That’s why they disappeared. There are some lines you don’t cross, even in this business.”

Their meal arrives, and Stiles’ eye grow wide at the size of the steak that’s placed in front of him. Peter just smiles, and tells him to eat up. Over the course of dinner, he finds that Stiles is remarkably clever, just as Peter suspected, and that he doesn’t feel the need to censor himself, despite knowing who Peter is now. Peter finds it refreshing, to be argued with for a change. He also finds that Stiles is much more morally flexible than one would expect from a cops’ kid. When he points it out, Stiles shrugs. “Life’s not black and white, you know? Sometimes you have to get your hands a little dirty.” Peter grins widely at that, because of _course_ his mate would think like he does.

They share a dessert, and Peter makes a show of licking the spoon in a way that makes Stiles’ breath catch and his heartbeat race.  They make out in the back of the cab all the way back to their hotel, and when they get to their room Stiles is halfway undressed before he realizes what he’s doing, and sheepishly asks “Um, did you want to? I kinda assumed, sorry.”

Peter drops to his knees, slides Stiles’ dress pants down his thighs, and blows him in reply. Afterwards, he lays Stiles out on the bed, eats him out till he’s a panting mess, and takes his time fucking him slow and deep until neither of them can stand it anymore. Stiles is begging him for more, harder, and Peter obliges, driving in so hard that Stiles gets pushed up against the headboard with the force of the thrusts. He comes seconds before Peter does.

They lay there breathing heavily, and Peter contemplates the fact that if he plays his cards right, he’ll get to keep this.

 

* * *

 

 

The rest of their first week passes much the same way. Peter works, feeds Stiles relentlessly, showers him with gifts, and fucks him through the mattress. Stiles responds wonderfully, once he realizes that there’s no point arguing when Peter wants something. He teases Peter about being a Sugar Daddy, once. Peter just smiles, and slides the diamond dress ring onto Stiles’ finger.

Peter notices that Stiles gravitates to him instinctively when they’re in a room together. He always seems to end up with his head on Peter’s shoulder while they watch TV, or in his lap, and he sleeps wrapped tightly round him. Peter allows it, hopes it means Stiles is feeling the bond. He mentions it in passing one day, and Stiles blushes and turns shy. “It relaxes me, touching you,” he admits.

As their first week draws to an end, there’s a day where Peter has to go out, so he gives Stiles a stack of bills and tells him to go and have fun. He’s amused to find that Stiles’ idea of having fun isn’t going to a casino or a bar, but finding a theater that’s having a Star Wars marathon and sitting in there all day. He tries to give Peter the rest of the cash back, but Peter shakes his head. “Keep it. Call it a performance bonus.” Stiles’ brow furrows at that, and Peter catches a whiff of anxiety coming off him. Peter doesn’t even pretend not to notice. “That upset you - why?” he demands.

Stiles’ shoulders droop a little. “It’s stupid. You’ll laugh at me.”

“Why don’t you try me?”

Stiles takes a deep breath. “I’m having a good time with you. And you just reminded me that it’ll be over next week. I kinda forgot you were paying me.”

Peter’s heartbeat stutters at that, and he’s quiet for a long moment. Eventually he says, “Would you say you’re comfortable with me, Stiles? Attracted to me, even?”

Stiles pretends he’s thinking about it, but Peter can hear how his heartbeat speeds up. Finally, he says, “Yeah. Which, I know, cops’ kid, I should be horrified by what you do, but there’s something about you. I like being near you. It feels right. Plus, you’re hot as hell, so that helps.”  He hastens to add, “I know it’s weird, and I promise I’m not gonna stalk you after this is over.” His expression falls at the prospect, and Peter just knows.

It’s time to tell him.

Peter chooses his next words carefully. “Tell me, Stiles. What do you know about werewolf mates?”

Stiles’ head snaps up. “That’s a real thing? I thought they were just stories, like werewolves having knots.”

Peter huffs out a laugh. “Knots are a myth. Soulmates are rare, but they’re real.”

Stiles looks skeptical, but Peter continues, “When a werewolf finds their soulmate, they know instantly. If it’s two weres, they both know. But when the mate is human, they don’t always feel it as strongly. Some do feel it, though.”

Peter looks steadily at Stiles as he speaks, and he can see the moment the penny drops. Stiles takes a small step towards him. “So, this thing where I want to be near you, and I feel safe with you, that’s…?” Peter nods, and waits to see what Stiles will do. Stiles takes another step, then hesitates. “So, what, you don’t just want me for another week?”

Peter closes the gap between them, and kisses Stiles, hot and heavy. When they pull apart, his eyes are glowing, and there’s a trace of a growl in his voice as he says “Sweetheart, you’re my _soulmate_. I never want you to leave.”

Stiles’ face lights up at that, and he breathes out “Oh, thank god. You’re all I can think about, Peter. I dream about you. You smell good, and I kinda want to lick you. I want your dick in me like, all the time. Kiss me again, and then take me to bed,” he demands, and Peter can’t say no to that, doesn’t really want to.

 

* * *

 

 

There are a few whispers in the underworld about exactly how Peter Hale met his soulmate, but they die down quickly enough after there are some unfortunate accidents involving tongues and nail guns. Word gets around fast.

Wherever Peter goes now, there’s a tall good looking younger man flanking him, and nobody’s stupid enough to cross either of them, not more than once at least. It turns out the young one’s just as clever and vicious as Peter himself, and lives by the motto “Sometimes you have to get your hands a little dirty.”

 


End file.
